Chapter 5 - The Dead Doctor
My father died when I was twenty-five.
Officially, a car bombing.
Unofficially, everyone blamed Dr. Elias Vane.
Vane disappeared two days later.
His boat was found burning on Lake Michigan.
No body.
Chicago decided the lake had taken him.
Apparently Chicago had been wrong.
“Rafael Salcedo is Elias Vane?”
Brin nodded.
“How do you know?”
“My mother worked for him.”
Brin Holloway’s mother, Catherine, had been a cardiac researcher.
She died when Brin was sixteen.
Brin inherited shares through a trust but knew almost nothing about the company until last year.
Then an anonymous package arrived.
Old research logs.
Financial records.
Photographs.
One showed Elias Vane.
Another showed Rafael Salcedo.
Same man.
Older.
Different hair.
Reconstructed nose.
But unmistakable.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“The night you abandoned me.”
That landed exactly where it should.
She had discovered she was pregnant that morning.
She intended to tell me both truths.
Then I arrived and informed her she didn’t belong in my world.
“I thought you knew,” she whispered.
“Knew what?”
“That your people had discovered my investigation.”
“Why?”
“Because someone entered my apartment before you came.”
My blood chilled.
Nothing was stolen.
Except one photograph.
Elias Vane beside my father.
I stood.
“Someone wanted me to push you away.”
“Yes.”
“And I cooperated.”
“Yes.”
No forgiveness.
Good.
I hadn’t earned it.
“Why did Yara wait nine months?”
“She didn’t.”
Brin’s voice weakened.
“She contacted me five days after you left.”
My jaw tightened.
“She offered money.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
“To disappear?”
“To disappear and terminate the pregnancy.”
My hands curled.
“I refused.”
Then the harassment began.
Lost jobs.
Eviction threats.
Strangers following her.
Medical appointments canceled without explanation.
Yet Brin kept gathering evidence.
Then three months ago, a specialist told her the baby had a cardiac abnormality.
A private procedure was recommended.
The doctor claimed it could save his life.
Brin consented.
Afterward she discovered the clinic belonged indirectly to a Salcedo company.
“What did they do?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she looked toward my pocket.
“Your phone.”
I handed it over.
She typed a name.
Dr. Nolan Pierce.
“He performed the procedure.”
“Where is he?”
“He disappeared two weeks later.”
Before I could respond, alarms sounded in the hallway.
Royce entered without knocking.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Yara’s gone.”
I stood.
“How?”
“Someone wearing hospital credentials removed her.”
Brin’s face changed.
“Cormack.”
“What?”
“Check the baby.”
We ran.
The nursery was in lockdown.
My son was still there.
But his bassinet had been moved.
On the floor beside it lay a hospital badge.
May you like
Dr. Nolan Pierce.
The missing surgeon had just been inside my son’s room.
